Uh Oh
by Crews
Summary: Charlie can't understand how her life could have changed so drastically. One minute she's talking to a rather cute, seemingly normal guy. The next, she's engaged to the freak. Add Beatrice the ex and Charlie's psycho mom to the mix. Yeah, there's trouble.
1. Party from Hell

**Hey this is Crews. It has been awhile since I've written pretty much anything. I hope you like it.**  
**This is mine.**  
**Mistakes: no doubt.**  
**Enjoy.**

Uh Oh

Chapter 1: What the hell?

"You will behave, won't you Charlotte?" My mom asked. I could tell how nervous she was as we got out of the car and started walking up the pront path. She, however, wasn't up for any worlds greatest mother awards.

"Probably not" I said watching the stone path. She had forced me to wear stilettos and if I wasn't careful I was going to fall and break my neck. Come to think of it, she probably made me wear them so I couldn't run. That is exactly something my mom would think to do. I could hit myself. Maybe right in the eye so as to leave a mark. That would give me a killer excuse not to go to this stupid work related party and not have to deal with her boss and her friends. I don't know nor do I care to know them. Not like she cares. No, she conned me into the stilettos and conned me into going to her party, but I got the last laugh. With the open-toed death traps I had on my feet, I was wearing my customary dark makeup, plain black shirt and skinny jeans. No way was she going to make me look any more ridiculous than the shoes already did.

Because honestly, do you think that a girl who wears black combat boots, the sturdiest and best shoes on the planet, wouldn't look stupid in stilettos? If you think she wouldn't, you're as bad as my mother.

"Good," she said not even listening. We reached the door and she rang the doorbell. "Smiles, Charlotte. These are important people." Please.

"Yeah, why is that?" I asked smugly. I honestly didn't care about her work. Truth be told, I didn't know what it even was beside something concerning money and didn't all jobs have something to do with money? Because I work in a grocery store and all I want at the end of the week is my paycheck. See, money. Her job isn't that special.

"Because Charlotte," she started, adjusting her dress. Was it my imagination or was she showing way more cleavage than usual? I mean, she's not conservative, but this slutty? "They'll soon be family."

"What do you mean," I asked sharply, actually having paid attention for once. I have to say, twice in one night, that was impressive. What is wrong with me? Before I could get an explanation from her, the door opened.

"Welcome," a tall, muscular man said quietly. His body took up the entirety of the doorway, his dark hair pulled back to the nape of his neck with an elastic band. He looked more like a body guard than a doorman. Hell, a former wrestler gone free lance, maybe even hitter for the mafia. He was HUGE! "Liz and Charlotte I presume?"

"Yeah, what of it?" I retorted rudely. I'll admit, the guy was intimidating but honestly, this is me we're talking about. No way in hell was I going to make it public knowledge that this guy scared me. I know, I really shouldn't be embarrassed or anything because most people probably wouldn't want this guy on their bad side either, but I'm not most people. I have to hide anything that my mother can use against me. Any simple fact about me she quickly turns into blackmail, holding her leverage over me to make me do whatever she wants. And you wonder why I hate her?

"Yes sir," my mom answered politely, giving me a warning glare. Like she scared me.

"Please come in."

My mom grabbed my arm and dragged me into the house. The door was shut behind us with an ominous click. What the hell was I getting myself into?

No, what the hell was my _mom_ getting me into? I didn't want to be here! Walking into the house made me feel like freaking Alice falling down the rabbit hole, only I knew that nothing cool would be waiting for me here.

I was right.

Right off the bat, I met four people, their faces running together to form a fifth man that I still didn't know. Names and ranks entered one ear and left the other. I wanted to die on the spot. If it hadn't been for my mom's vice-like grip on my arm, I would have run straight back out the door. On second thought, I would have probably snaked the keys from her first. That would have been smarter. Better to peal out the driveway like a bat outta hell in a car than trying to run in stilettos. You know, even if the driveway was littered in glass and other sharp objects, I probably still would have taken off the shoes and run. Being here was a worse form of torture.

"Liz," I said. I never called her mom out loud. She could use that against me. "Liz, I need to go to the bathroom." It took a moment, but I finally successfully got her attention long enough for her to release me and point me in the right direction. I didn't want to know how she knew.

Finally free, I made my way in the opposite direction of my mother, heading for one of many closed doors that I prayed was a closet.

It wasn't. It was a bedroom, sparsely furnished though I had to say I liked it. Everything was black: the wood of the bed and the desk, the comforter and the upholstery on the chair. I was in love with this room. I quickly shut the door behind me, turning the lock with a soft click. I turned and pressed my back to the door, sliding down until I was sitting on the floor.

The stilettos came off. I was so sick of them that instead of unfastening them, I more or less ripped them off my feet. I was willing to take my chances outside. No matter is their were rocks or glass, those god awful contraption would not be going on my feet again. I breathed a sigh of relief as I chucked them across the floor.

"Nice shoes," a voice said softly.

I jumped to my feet in surprise, looking around the room. There hadn't appeared to be anyone in the room. Where had it come from?

"I'm over hear," the voice continued, a guy coming out a door I had assumed to be a closet. I was really off on thinking what was and wasn't a closet tonight, wasn't I? "I didn't mean to scare you."

The way he said _I didn't mean to scare you_ turned my shock to anger. Who the hell did this smug bastard think he was? Sounding like he scared everyone…

"You didn't scare me, asshole," I retorted standing in place. I had locked myself in a room with an unknown, yet very attractive, guy, my shoes thrown over near him. I could leave them in here, just return to the party. It was something else my mom could use.

"Why are you in here?" he asked. He was very cute. His dark hair lay in precise disarray, a messy look that suited him. He was also wearing a black shirt, his a button down, and dark jeans. And his eyes! They were bright green, so bright that I could tell the color from far away, outlined in…

"Are you wearing eyeliner?" I blurted out. Yep, that's me, miss smooth.

He frowned in confusion. It definitely hadn't been what he expected me to say. Hell, I would have been confused. If I had been asking what he was doing here and he had said do you like fish? I would have been confused beyond belief.

"Yes," he recovered quickly, though the surprise at the question never left his face. "Are you going to answer my question?"

"Probably not," I automatically responded. Hey, give me a break, I had been working on my personality for years. One very hot guy wouldn't change it.

"Probably not?" he asked, his eyebrows rising in surprise. What was this guy's problem? Had he never met anyone who mouthed off before?

We both stared at each other, his eyes calculating, mine just going over him inch by inch. Did I mention he is hot? Well, its worth mentioning a hundred million times over. Oh. My. God.

"Well, if you won't answer that one," he finally spoke, pulling me back to reality. I had zoned out staring at his wonderful face. "Will you answer another?"

It was now my turn to be surprised. Everyone I had said no to before had threatened me, ignored me or gotten mad. Not this guy. He asked if he could ask another question and if I would answer it. Huh.

"Fine," I mumbled, attitude still intact. I crossed my arms, waiting. "Well?"

He stared at me like I was the most interesting thing in the world.

"Why did you throw your shoes at me?" he asked, his face completely serious. He had stepped farther forward, swiftly reaching down and taking hold of one of my shoes. He straightened, dangling it by the strap wrapped around his finger.

"I didn't mean to," I said, stepping forward to take it from him. "I didn't know you were in here." I held my hand out and he dropped it into my hand. "I hate these shoes."

"Really? I thought you looked wonderful in them," he said, grabbing the other and handing it to me. I snorted.

"Yeah, they look great, but they're not good for walking in."

"What's your name?" he asked. We were standing right in front of each other now. Shoes in hand, I stared up into his irresistible eyes. One more step and we would be close enough to kiss. Just one more step…

What the hell was wrong with me! I backed up quickly, banging into the door. He didn't move.

"Sorry bub, you only asked for an answer to the other question. No more."

"Michael."

"What?" I asked confused.

"My name is not 'bub', it is Michael."

"Well, it's great to meet you Michael, but I gotta split," I said, reaching for the doorknob. I turned the lock and pushed out of the room, leaving Michael behind as I became once more swept up in the party crowd.

"There you are Charlotte! I've been looking for you everywhere!" My mom said, grabbing hold of my arm once more. "Where have you been? Why aren't you wearing shoes?" She didn't give me time to answer.

"Charlotte, I have someone I want you to meet," she said, dragging me forward. Barefoot, I had to maneuver quickly in order to avoid getting my toes squished under all the feet in massive shoes. Being dragged, this was no easy feet, and twice I came close to losing toes.

"Ah!" she said, dragging me to a halt. "There he is."

_He?_

She began frantically waving at someone, though I couldn't see them through the crowd. How many people could fit in one house? I swear there had to be a thousand people crammed in there at least!

"Zane! Over here!" my mother called, still waving. I felt my stomach drop. I had a very bad feeling about this.

At last, a man who had to be around my mother's age stepped forward.

"Liz, how nice to see you!" the man, Zane, boomed. He was as massive as the man who had opened the door. Yep, this just confirmed it. They were both a part of the mafia. Great. What the hell was my mom getting into?

"Of course Zane! It's wonderful to see you too!" she leaned forward, kissing him on each cheek. "Zane, this is my daughter Charlotte, the one I've been telling you about."

Oh god, didn't that sound ominous?

"Hello Charlotte, it is very nice to meet you." The way he said it sounded sincere. He looked like an okay guy. Apart from the intimidating size, he had a nice face with a mustache. His hair was a mass of salt and pepper strands. He even looked nice. What was he doing hanging out with my mom?

"Whatever," I answered. He raised his brows, turning to my mother.

"You weren't kidding."

"Not at all," she answered with a sigh. Zane looked studied my mother with concern, eventually turning his attention back to me.

"If I am correct, you are a very blunt person. Therefore, I will not soften this blow. Charlotte, I want you to meet my son. You two will be very happy together. The wedding is set. You have six weeks."

"Wedding! I gasped. Whatever bad thing I had been expecting, this was a hundred times worse! How could I be getting married? To a stranger no less! This couldn't be happening. Could this get any worse?

Of course. Because from behind Zane stepped the one person that could make this worse.

Michael.


	2. Of Course I'll Behave NOT!

Behave my ass.

"No way," I said, pointing at Michael. "Not you again." Zane and my mother exchanged confused glances.

"You know each other?" Zane asked, looking to Michael. He smirked. Oh crap.

"Yeah, we just had a wonderful chat in my bedroom." I growled. No joke, I flat out growled. Gritted teeth and everything.

"Why did you have to say that?" I asked, exasperated. From the look on my mom's face, she had the perfect leverage over me now. She'd be able to hold this over my head forever, twisting me into doing what she wanted. And it was Michael's fault.

"Good," Zane said slowly, looking between the two of us. He looked concerned, no doubt because I was glaring daggers at his son and Michael stared at me like I was the most amusing thing in the world.

"Now, Charlotte, about the wedding," Zane continued. Michael smirked. That did it, I had had enough.

"You all are insane." Looking between the three of them, I started backing up, hopefully toward the door.

"Charlotte," my mom started, anger in her eyes. I didn't stick around to let her finish. More than likely she was going to use the bedroom thing against me. I hated her, I hated this house, I hated Zane and I definitely hated Michael.

Chucking the stupid stilettos across the floor, I flat out sprinted to the front door, passing muscle man and out into the fresh night air. I had had enough of my mom and her party. And a wedding? Not just a wedding, _my_ wedding? I don't think so. Where in the parenting handbook does it say that my mom can sell me off? It isn't the old days anymore. She is crazy, this place is crazy.

"Two more weeks," I breathed, racing down the street, rocks pressing into my bare feet. "Two more weeks and I'm eighteen. I just have to run away until then. No more Liz, no more thoughts of marriage, no more Michael…"

I wasn't paying very close attention to where I was going or I just couldn't see in the dark, but either way a figure suddenly loomed in front of me. The collision felt like I had thrown myself into a something harder than a brick wall. I fell to the ground, slamming my head against the concrete. The pain lancing through my head dazed me, confusing me so much so that I started wondering if there was anything harder than a brick wall.

That didn't last long.

"What the hell!" I yelled, looking up. It was Michael. He stood looking down at me in amusement. This guy must have some serious issues. First he asks if he can ask a question and now he finds me amusing. I had met many weird people in my life, but dude, he was the weirdest.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, rubbing my head with my hand. I shook concrete rocks from my hair. We were still more or less in the middle of the street, though thankfully there weren't any cars.

We stared at each other, neither speaking. Honestly, if it weren't for the marriage thing, I really wouldn't have a problem with him. He was gorgeous! If only he'd move a little closer…

Stop it! What is wrong me? First in the room and now here...

"What do you want?" I asked, breaking the silence. Surprisingly it hadn't been awkward, more like we were examining each other. Thanks to living with my mother for the past seventeen years, I was pretty much studying him for weaknesses. I couldn't tell what he was thinking. His face was too encompassed in shadow.

Michael smiled. Great, so I still amused him.

"What's so funny asshole?" I asked, getting to my feet. He offered his hand, but I ignored it. Picking myself up came naturally. I didn't need him.

Once on my feet, I realized my knees were stinging, no doubt from road rash. It was going to be loads of fun changing clothes later.

"You amuse me," he said withdrawing his hand.

"You're a freak," I said, dusting off my butt. God, concrete chips get everywhere! Looking at Michael more closely, I noticed his body shaking. Was he…

"Are you laughing?" I shouted, outraged. "You're the reason I fell! It's not like I fall down on my own you jerk! You're the reason I was the on the ground."

"That's not it," he gasped. He was laughing really hard now.

"Then what is it?" I asked, hands on my hips. I was getting really pissed off. If he didn't stop laughing he was going to get a fist upside the face. As if reading my mind, he immediately stopped. It was as if he hadn't been laughing at all. Wow.

"I was laughing at you calling me a freak," he said calmly and seriously. "You have no idea how much of a freak I am." He smiled again. "Now Charlotte, I believe we should return to the party. No doubt our parents are upset with our behavior."

"Your behavior? What did you do?"

"I ran after you of course," he answered with a smirk. "Meaning we both left our engagement party."

"Our what?" I squeaked. I cleared my throat. "Michael," I started, "you know, this marriage thing probably isn't going to work out. See, you don't know me. You think my behavior is just the crap I pull around Liz, but you're wrong." I smiled, pointing down at my bedraggled appearance. My hair had become tangled while running, my knees had begun bleeding through my pants, and my feet were torn up.

"Though you find me 'amusing' now, I promise you, you will want to kill me in two days time." I finished. His expression hadn't changed, but he was nodding his head.

"We'll see," he said once more offering his hand. "Shall we?"

"Hell no!" I said, taking one step back. "I am not going back there. The only way you'd get me back there is to drag my cold dead body back, and even then with a large tree wrapped in my arms."

"Then where do you want to go?"

"Uh… Far away from you?" Damn! He's smiling again.

"You don't like me then?" he said. It wasn't a question. I narrowed my eyes.

"Not exactly," I started.

_**BEEEEEEEEEEEP! You stupid kids get out of the middle of the damn road!**_ Headlights swept across us, bathing us in light.

"Make me you asshole!" I screamed back, flipping him off. Laughing, Michael grabbed my arm and dragged me to the sidewalk, the car screeching past, leaving tread marks on the road.

I yanked my arm from his grasp.

"I can take care of myself," I fumed, walking away from the house and my mother. "I don't need you."

"I can see that," he stated, keeping pace with me down the street. "And I realize that it is not you that needs me, but I who needs you."

That floored me. What was he talking about?

"Why do you need me?" I asked. We reached the corner and I took a seat on the curb, Michael following suit.

"Because," he said looking across the street. "If you won't marry me, I have to marry Beatrice."

"Who's that?"

"The bitch from hell," he hissed with a visible shudder. I laughed out loud.

"So you only want to marry me because I am the better of the two options?" I breathed while gasping for air. Why I was laughing this hard, I didn't know. It really wasn't that funny.

"Honestly, I don't want to marry either of you," he growled, giving me a strange look. "And I have to obey my father until I turn eighteen. In six weeks and four days I won't have to listen to him anymore. But, as you can see, that is after the scheduled wedding date."

"Ah, don't worry. I turn eighteen in two weeks," I said giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

"Really?" he asked, examining my face. He eyes glistened evilly. Ooh he had a plan!

"You know what? Let's make a deal. Let's pretend we're getting married up until the wedding. You know, placate the folks. And once the wedding finally comes, I'll call the whole thing off. It won't give my father enough time to schedule another wedding before I turn eighteen and you'll already be eighteen so your mother can't force you into it anymore. We both end up free and single. What do you say?"

"You know," I said thinking it through, "that isn't a bad idea. So, what, we pretend to be engaged and at the last minute call the whole thing off?"

"Exactly."

"Alright, I'm in," I said, offering my hand. He shook it with a smile.

"Now," he said. "According to the plan, you and I have to return to the party."

"Great," I shuddered, making him laugh again.

"It's just six weeks," he reminded me, standing and offering to help me up. I refused. No shocker there.

"I know," I sighed, getting to my feet. "But it will be the six weeks from hell."

"There you go! Just keep thinking those positive thoughts."

"Did you just make a joke?" I laughed, propelling him into the grass with a shove.

"You sound surprised. I can be funny you know."

"Sure you can, freak. Sure you can."

When we reached the house again, my instinct to bolt went into overdrive. And it definitely wasn't eased when I saw my mother talking to muscle man right outside the front door.

"What…?" Michael started, following my gaze. "Oh." He quickly grabbed my hand, holding it tightly enough that I couldn't pull away. Geez was he stronger than he looked! I stared daggers at him. If only I could shoot fire out of my eyes, this ass would be incinerated!

"Stop it Charlotte," he whispered, pulling me closer. "We're pretending, remember?" As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. I lowered my head in defeat.

"Fine," I whispered back. "But since we're going to be pretending we like each other, don't call me Charlotte. Only Liz does that. I'm Charlie."

"Alright Charlie." He said with a smile. "Now, smile for our parents." His tone dripped with sarcasm. I had to pinch myself to keep from laughing.

"Charlotte?" My mom asked. Her voice sounded weird. I looked up to see the look of wonder on my mom's face as she looked from my face to Michael's face and to our interlocked hands. That's when I had the best idea ever.

"Liz," I said sweetly, surprising everyone, including myself. "We've decided to get married, blah blah blah. I want something from you in return, however."

"What's that?" she asked, her face going from one of wonder to one of suspicion.

"I want to move out," I bluntly stated. Man did her jaw drop open!

"What?"

"You heard me. I don't want to live with you anymore. In fact, I don't want to live within a ten block radius of you."

"Fine," she said, composing herself quicker than I liked. Oh crap. "You'll be moving in with Michael then."

It was my turn to have my jaw drop. This plan had seriously backfired.

"What?" Michael said, surprising me and mother. Besides the pressure of his hand on mine, I had completely forgotten that he was standing there. Obviously mother had too. "I don't think that is a good idea," he continued, nervously looking from my face to my mother's. In the short time I had known him, all of three hours, I had not seen him nervous. And his nervous was not just a scared-looking nervous. It was a slightly scared and majorly pissed-nervous.

A crowd had begun to form around us as the guest's moved closer to hear what our heated discussion was about. I had a feeling I had just played into one of my mother's devious traps. God damn it! I am seventeen years old! I know my mother and I know the crap she pulls. How could I fall for this?

"Michael, I think it will be a great idea," Zane said, coming out of no where. "It will give you the chance to really get to know each other. Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, CRAP!

"So it's settled!" my mom said, smiling in satisfaction. "You can go home with him tonight even. I'll bring your stuff tomorrow."

Michael and I could only look at each other in shock. Slowly his grip on my hand was becoming stronger and stronger, but I didn't flinch, even when it became almost unbearable.

"You know," Zane said, looking at his watch. "This party has been going on long enough." Addressing muscle man, "John, will you please clear the house."

"Yessir," John muscle man answered. Within moments the party guests were leaving the mansion, thanking Zane for inviting them and congratulating Michael and I on our engagement.

"You two will be so happy together!" One elderly lady said, shaking my hand and then Michael's. And with those seemingly innocent words, the abrupt changes in my life were beginning to sink in. My world had been thrust upside down: I was pretend getting married, I was moving in with my pretend fiancé who incidentally had to be the hottest guy in the world and I was turning eighteen in two weeks. I found myself buried so deep, I wasn't sure that, even if everything went according to Michael's plan, I would ever be able to find my way back to the surface again.

"Are you okay?" Michael whispered as the four of us walked across the threshold.

"Yeah," I answered, staring dead-eyed at the floor as the door once more swung shut, closing with another ominous _click._


	3. No Place Like Home?

**Okay, here is chapter 3. Its a bit choppy.  
I hope you like it.  
Mistakes: of course :)  
And I'd like to thank LoudButStillQuiteDeadly, xvanessaxx16 and Charlee Rayne. Thank you for the wonderful reviews :) You're the best!  
Crews**

"So," I started, looking around Michael's apartment. "You live here?"

"Yeah," he answered, throwing his keys on the table. "I live here."

The place was gigantic. His 'apartment' was bigger than my whole house! So when my mother was saying that it would be a big change (yes, pun intended), she wasn't kidding. If you haven't already figured this out, my mother is a selfish bitch who takes great pleasure in messing with me. The moving in with the ass wasn't enough for her; she had to make it even worse.

"I hate it," I blurted, flopping down on the sofa. It had an almost regal look about it. The carpet was a deep maroon, the couch and almost all the furniture was leather, there was art on the walls, seemingly van Gogh impressionism. And there were curtains. Seriously? Who has curtains? Real curtains without dust on them?

"Well deal with it!" Michael shouted, glaring at me. He immediately turned red. "It's just for a few weeks. Just a few weeks." The last was said as if he were trying to console himself. Wasn't this whole plan his in the first place? I knew it, I should have told him to fuck off when I had the chance, beaten him into the concrete where we sat. But no. I'm stupid and I fall for this kind of shit.

Admittedly, his outburst did kind of surprise me, especially since he usually laughed at my wonderful personality. But hey, this is me.

"Uh huh," I mumbled. "Whatever."

Michael sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger.

"When is your mom bringing your stuff?" he asked. I narrowed my eyes and leaned forward.

"You mean Liz? She said first thing tomorrow morning before work. Apparently she has some big client coming in, but, you know, I didn't really pay attention."

"Surprising as it may sound, I noticed that about you," he said, exasperated.

"You know, if you don't want me here, that's cool. I can move in with my friend Rob. His flat mate just moved…"

"No, its fine. I just wasn't…expecting this. I like to know about things before they happen. And yeah, I know. I'm a freak."

"You took the words right out of my mouth, Mikey."

"Please don't call me that."

"Why not? I am your pretend fiancé, right? I think I can call you whatever I want."

"Then I'll just call you Charlotte, Charlotte."

"Touché. Alright, what, just Michael?"

"Yes."

"Fine."

Besides lifting his head, Michael hadn't moved, still standing like a statue next to the kitchen table. And despite our wonderful conversation…

"I'm bored." I swung my legs onto the couch, stretching before curling up into the corner. Who would have guessed that my life could have changed so drastically, going from stupid stilettos to getting married.

Ugh, getting married. Even though it was just for show, I could feel the manacles snapping closed on my wrists and ankles, binding me forever to this freak I hardly knew. This quite, tall dark and handsome freak that I constantly had to fight the urge to kiss. What was wrong with me? I never felt this way, even when I actually liked the guy. I mean, take Rob. We hooked up once or twice and, you know, I wanted to kiss him, but never felt compelled to kiss him. This was some new bull and I did not like it.

I leaned my head back, looking at Michael. He hadn't replied and I now saw why. He had completely spaced out, staring at the wall, seeing what I no doubt would never ever see; lost in his mind, a memory. I watched him a moment longer before boredom got the best of me.

"Hello. Earth to Michael." Nothing.

"Michael, the apartments on fire." That got his attention. He looked around and then looked at me sharply.

"That was not funny."

"Yeah well, neither is being ignored. I said I'm bored. Where am I staying?" He looked at me in confusion two seconds before his eyes lit with understanding. Geez, did he forget me already?

"Of course. I'll show you around." He began walking toward the back of the apartment before I could even move. He was really fast.

"This is the kitchen, living room," he said, pointing as he walked backward acting as tour guide.

"Ooh…Ahh.." I joked.

"Very funny."

At the back wall between the kitchen and the living room was a door that Michael pushed open, holding it for me as I walked through. Whatever, I was too tired to give him lip.

The door opened onto a hallway, lined with doors on both sides. Four doors on each side, to be exact.

"Yeah, I know, bigger," he said still walking backward.

"How did you…?" I started. Michael looked at me like he had just let slip something he shouldn't have.

"This is the bathroom, two closets, your room, another spare room, steam room, deck and my room," he listed off quickly, pointing at each room in turn. His change of subject worked.

"You have a steam room?" I asked, moving toward the door he had pointed out as the steam room.

"Yeah and on the deck is a hot tub." I pulled the door of the steam room open and was assaulted by steam. My mouth dropped open.

"What, no sarcastic comment? Rude remark?" he teased opening the door to my room. It was beautiful. I felt my mouth drop open.

The red carpet from the living room extended in here, complementing the plush bedspread and velvet canopy. Two walls were painted black, holding brackets with lit candles. The other two were a cream color with more artwork swathed in golden frames. And, could it be?

"Is that the "Café Terrace on the Place du Forum?" I breathed, moving toward the painting, drawn to it like a moth to the flame. I loved Vincent van Gogh, but how did Michael know?

"Yes," he answered with a smile. "And yes, this is the real one. The one in the Muller Museum is a fake."

"Wow." Okay, this guy had seriously awed me. I had no rude remark, no crude comment, hell I didn't even want to hit him anymore. And man, maybe moving in with Michael hadn't been as bad as my mother thought it would be. Maybe I'd even like it…

"STOP!" I yelled, closing my eyes. "This isn't happening. I won't let this happen." Turning toward Michael, I moved to get right up in his face. "What are you doing to me?" I demanded, poking him in the chest with an accusatory finger.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I can't seem to control myself around you and it is really starting to piss me off."

"Charlie, I don't seem to be following," Michael said, eyes wide with innocence. The only way I could tell he was lying was because of the smirk he just couldn't keep off his face.

"You asshole! You know exactly what I'm talking about! You take the words right out of my mouth, you know I like van Gogh. For god's sake! You have an original van Gogh in your guest room! How is it you know what I'm going to say and what I like?" Standing so close, I just wanted to lean in and…

He smirked.

"What the hell are you doing to me?"

"What? You think I'm hot and you seem to always want to kiss me," he breathed, staring down at me. "You don't have to be a mind reader to see that in your eyes. And you are very easy to read, Charlie." He smiled, looking back at the van Gogh. "As for the art, I happen to love van Gogh. I'm glad you like it too."

He looked back at me. "You know, if you love him so much, I have just the thing to show you." I narrowed my eyes as he beckoned me out of my room and toward the door he had said was his room.

"What the hell?" I asked, stopping in my tracks. Michael sighed in frustration.

"Just come on," he snapped, grabbing my hand and dragging me through his door.

Michael shut the door behind us, thrusting his room into total darkness. Unlike the rest of the apartment, there were no windows here. My eyes fought to adapt to the loss of light. When the ceiling light flared into life, I found myself momentarily blind.

As my eyes adjusted, I saw his room was completely black: the bed, the carpet, three of the walls, even his dresser was made out some black wood. The only wall not black was a creamy color and stationed right in the middle was…

"Starry Night," I gasped, once more being drawn to the silver frame.

"You know, I would have never pegged you as a lover of impressionism," Michael remarked. "I thought you would have preferred the work of da Vinci over van Gogh."

"Why would you think that?" I asked, completely mesmerized. The texture, the colors…

"Wait. Is this real too?"

"Yes," he replied. "Like New York would have the real one. Please.

"As I was saying, I though you would have gone more for the reality of da Vinci, like the Mona Lisa. The accurateness and the subject matter being what is physically seen."

"But van Gogh painted what he saw," I objected, still studying the brush strokes. "Not everyone sees the world in black and white. Van Gogh saw those shades of gray; he saw the world through unique eyes. He was brilliant."

"Well Charlie, you have surprised me once again," Michael remarked. His tone finally drew me away from the painting.

"Uh huh," I barked, finding myself once more. "Don't think that just because we like the same art it means I'm going to like you or anything. And there is no way in hell I'm going to be lured into your bedroom by this painting to sleep with you." Okay, that bit didn't make much sense, seeing as I was already in his room, the door shut, the lights easily extinguished with one small flip of a switch… NO!

"Good night!" I shouted, heading for the door. Before I could blink he was there, blocking my way.

"So you won't sleep with me?" he smirked.

"In your dreams," I snapped, pushing him aside.

"Good night Charlie," Michael whispered. I barely heard him as I walked out, slamming the door behind me.

There was something really wrong with me. Finally outside his room, I walked down the hall to my room. Once inside, I shut the door softly and pressed my back to the wood, sliding down to the floor. I really just couldn't understand anything.

How did Michael have original van Gogh's in his apartment? And he must be good at reading people because I've been told my face resembles granite; I never show what I'm thinking. And the way he seems to take the words right out of my mouth! There was definitely something wrong with this place, with Michael. I'm not a stupid person and I'm sure as hell not going to reveal the secrets he's keeping.

Slowly getting to my feet, I made my way to the bed, pulling down the covers and sliding in. It was so soft, and I was so tired…

A bright glow pressed against my eyelids. Moving from side to side, I couldn't get away from it. With a sigh, I opened my eyes and stared around me in confusion. Where was I? My eyes fixed on the painting and yesterday's events came tumbling back. I pulled the covers over my head with a groan. I was so not getting up.

"Rise and shine Charlie!" Michael yelled, pounding on the door. "Get up! Your mom is here!"

"Shit!" I yelled, throwing the covers off and groping for my phone. 6:30 a.m. "God damn," I grumbled, stumbling to the door.

"Good morning. So you like to start your day with curses?" Michael asked as I opened the door. There was no sleep in his face or his eyes. He looked wide awake and way too good for this early in the morning.

"Ugh. Shut it! You're way too chipper this morning," I grumbled. "Where is Liz?"

"Oh, she's already gone," he replied. "I have your bag." He held the bag out to me, revealing my orange duffel. I pulled the door open further, motioning for him to toss it on the bed.

Michael came in, setting the bag on the bed as I followed rubbing my eyes.

"How did you sleep?" he asked, watching me. He took a seat on the bed.

"Wonderful," I mumbled. I unzipped my bag and dumping the contents out. On the very top was every thong I owned. I looked at the pile, not really understanding what it was I was seeing. It was when I looked at Michael who was shaking with laughter that it finally sunk in. My mother was being funny.

"Ugh, great," I said, snatching the thongs off the top and pushing them to the bottom.

"I never pegged you…"

"Don't even think of finishing that sentence," I warned. I was awake now, and if my mom had decided to pack all my thongs…

"Shit!" I yelled, digging through the clothes. She had packed all the clothes that I refused to wear. No where was there a Bullet For My Valentine or Papa Roach or Three Days Grace t-shirt or any jeans. Instead, everything was flowery, frilly crap that I had buried at the back of my closet. Dresses, shorts in pastel colors.

At least she had packed my face wash and make-up. I would have died without those…

"I take it you don't like this," Michael laughed, holding up a flowery yellow dress. I snatched it back.

"She does this on purpose! She is so infuriating!"

"Oh, I don't know. I kind of like these," he laughed, digging down and holding up a thong.

"Uh huh," I snorted, snatching those back as well. "Like you'll ever see these again."

"Touchy touchy."

"Get out," I snapped. I grabbed all the clothes and began stuffing them back into the bag. I sighed. "I'm going to need to go home today."

"Don't bother. Liz said that she had donated everything else. This is it." I clenched my hands into fists in frustration.

"Then I'm going to need to go shopping. I need to go to Hot Topic. I can't wear this crap."

"We'll go out later," he said. "Right now, it is time for breakfast." Okay…

"You made breakfast?"

"Yeah," he answered, getting up and heading for the door.

"I'll be there in a minute," I said, grabbing my face wash and heading toward the bathroom. Once my face was clean and I had made up my face, I walked down the hall and into the kitchen. It smelled like heaven!

There were eggs and pancakes set out on the table. And juice. I love juice and he had pomegranate, orange, and cranberry. And…

"Coffee," I breathed. I poured myself a cup.

"Milk or sugar?" Michael asked, pouring himself a cup of orange juice.

"No, I'm fine," I answered, taking a sip. Ahh…

_**Bang! Bang! Bang!**_

"Someone's at the door," I said, helping myself to the pancakes. Michael didn't move, looking at the door in surprise. "Are you going to get it?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said, getting up. He reached the door and unlocked it.

"Good morning sweetheart," a woman said, walking into the kitchen. She was beautiful with big blue eyes in a pale face framed with dirty blonde hair. She was wearing a low cut dark blue tee, a jean mini skirt. And her shoes. She was wearing 6 inch black stilettos. She quickly gave Michael two quick pecks on each cheek. "I was thinking we could go out today, maybe see a movie or…" she stopped, catching sight of me. "Who is this?"

I stabbed a piece of pancake with my fork.

"I'm Charlie," I replied, taking a bite. "Who are you?"

"Michael!" she cried, turning toward him. "What is going on?" Since the woman had walked in, Michael had looked both surprised and as if he was in pain. By now, both me and the woman were staring at him, waiting for an explanation.

"Charlie, this is Beatrice," he said. "Beatrice, this is Charlie. My fiancé."


	4. Bitch Say What?

Beatrice's jaw dropped unattractively.

"Are you fucking insane?" she screamed, glaring daggers at me.

"Nice to meet you too," I said, taking another bite. Damn these were good!

"Don't you dare talk to me!" she shrieked. She turned to Michael. "What the hell is going on? I thought that we…"

"Beatrice," Michael sighed, pressing his hand to his forehead. He looked like just seeing her was causing him physical pain.

"Don't Beatrice me!" she yelled.

"Hey!" I yelled, slamming my fork down. "Don't talk to him like that!" Beatrice got very quiet and her eyes began to sparkle dangerously. And wait, was _I_ defending him? God, there was definitely something wrong with me.

"What are _you_ going to do about it?" she asked, her voice dropping dangerously low.

"I'm going to kick your ass," I answered just as quietly. Michael looked between me and Beatrice, his expression growing more and more alarmed.

"I'd like to see you try." I had since begun moving closer to Beatrice and as she spoke my hands clenched into fists.

"Bring it, blondie."

"Alright, that's enough. Charlie, sit down. Beatrice, get the hell out of my house," Michael said, pushing between us. He placed one hand on my shoulder, the other on Beatrice's shoulder and we were immediately pushed apart.

"Been working out there Michael?" I asked, pointedly looking at his hand. He removed it and I sat back in my seat.

"Wait, she doesn't know?" Beatrice asked, staring at Michael. Michael's eyes went wide, and he glared at her. Ah ha! The secret! I knew it!

Beatrice turned to me with a smirk, staring at me in a superior way.

"Of course I know," I snapped, staring her down. "We have no secrets." I gave Michael a look. He glared back with a mixture of suspicion and relief. Oh, we would be talking about this later. You can count on that.

"Oh yeah, what are you going to do if he gets hungry?" I tilted my head to the side in confusion.

"Feed him?" I said, looking at her like she was nuts. And frankly, she was. Nuts, I mean. Michael hadn't been kidding when he said that Beatrice was the bitch from hell.

Beatrice's eyes went wide in amazement. "So you do know. Well, Michael, I hope you're happy with this skank."

"Bitch, get the fuck out of my house!" I hissed, getting to my feet and advancing toward her, fists clenched.

"You don't scare me and this is not your house," she hissed back.

"But I do," Michael said, deadly calm. And he was right. "And this is her house." His tone alone made Beatrice shrink toward the door. Fire burned in his eyes and I swear they flashed, becoming almost demonic.

"Now, get out."

Beatrice turned to me with white hot rage in her eyes. "You'll be sorry," she hissed. With that last outburst she was gone.

Michael closed the door behind her with a slam and turned the lock.

"You weren't exaggerating. She is a total bitch." I said, picking up my plate and rinsing it in the sink. "What the hell was she talking about? Feeding you? Psh. She is coo-coo for cocoa puffs or something stronger," I said, miming drinking a shot. "That reminds me, what secret are you keeping from me? And why the hell does the bitch know something I don't?"

"That was nice, Charlie," Michael said, ignoring my questions. "That is so unlike you."

"Yeah, don't get used to it," I mumbled. "She got on my nerves." There was silence. "Did you really mean it?"

"What?"

I glared at him.

"Are you really going to make me say it?"

"I honestly don't know what you mean," Michael insisted. I sighed.

"Did you really mean that this is my home?" Michael frowned.

"Of course. What's the big deal?"

I looked down at my bare feet, embarrassment coloring my face.

"Never mind," I said. Taking a deep breath, I looked up at him, back to my regular self. "So, what are we going to do today?"

"I was thinking we go to the mall," he said, tactfully changing the subject. "You said you needed to buy some new clothes. Unless you want to wear what your mom packed. You know," he said, smiling evilly, "I do love those thongs."  
"Ha ha, nice try," I said sarcastically. With a sigh, I leaned back against the sink, crossing my arms over my chest. "So, when are we going out?"

"Whenever you get ready," Michael replied, the smirk still planted on his face. I eyed his white shirt and plaid pajama pants. He was gorgeous. And I no longer wanted nothing more than to kiss him or jump his bones. Whatever the hell he had been doing to me, he was no longer doing it. Which was good, at least he listened.

"You don't look ready," I remarked, earning an eyebrow raise. Which gave me an idea…

"I can get ready before you," I stated, pushing off the sink and moving to stand eye to eye with him. He looked amused.

"Is that a wager?" he asked, looking down at me with his gorgeous eyes.

"Yes," I said. "If I win I get Starry Night in my room." He smiled.

"You really like that painting, don't you."

"Sure do."

"Fine, what do I get if I win?"

"What do you want?" Michael tilted his head, looking up at the ceiling in thought. A moment lapsed before he was looking back at me, his devilish grin firmly in place.

"You sleep in my room tonight." My jaw dropped. "But," he continued, amused by my reaction, "we do nothing but sleep." I closed my mouth and narrowed my eyes in suspicion.

"Nothing but sleep?" I clarified.

"Nothing but sleep."

"Deal," I said, holding out my hand. He grasped it in his own.

"On the count of three then?" he asked, still looking me in the eyes. I smiled.

"Onetwothree GO!" I rushed, yelling out the last word and making a break for the hallway door.

"Cheater!" he accused as I pulled the door open, raced through and slammed it shut behind me. No way was this guy winning. No way in hell. Starry Night would be mine. Sprinting into my room, I grabbed my hair brush and untangled my hair. Pulling out the hideous yellow flower-print dress from the top of the bag, I quickly stripped off the clothes from the night before and ambled into the dress, zipping up the back. I grabbed my purse, slapped on some eyeliner and cover-up, grabbed the only flats that my mom had packed (white ones of course. How disgusting. Why did I even own this crap?) and made the mad dash back through the hallway door. No way could Michael have beaten me…

"So you're finally ready?" Michael stated from his seat on the couch. He was in jeans and a plaid long-sleeve button down, unbuttoned with a plain black tee underneath. His hair was spiked into casual disarray and he was wearing eyeliner.

"How the hell did you get ready so fast?" I gasped.

"I had a lot at stake," he replied with a smile. My eyes widened as the parameters of the wager resurfaced in my mind.

"Great," I sighed, hefting my purse onto my shoulder. "I don't get Starry Night _and_ I have to sleep with you. This is great."

"Charlie, you started it," he gently reminded, getting to his feet and going to the front door.

"Yeah, yeah" I muttered. I know, I know. I'm a sore loser. Sue me.

"Seeing as how we're to be pretend married, I think we should both win. So, you can have the van Gogh in your room and you have to sleep in my room tonight. Win win."

"No, you won. It was fair. I'll sleep in your room and you can keep the van Gogh."

"Whatever you wish," Michael said, unfastening the lock and holding open the door. "Time to go shopping."

"Yep," I said, walking across the threshold. "Hello band t-shirts. Goodbye ugly dress."

"But you'll keep the thongs?"

"Eh," I droned, "We'll see."

"That is all a guy can hope for," he sighed, closing the door behind him and following me down the hall to the elevator.

"Yeah, well, just don't set your hopes too high."

**This is a thank you to everyone who has reviewed and added/favorited this story. You're all the best :)  
I'd also like to apologize for the shortness of this chapter, but the next will be longer. Promise.  
Thank you for reading.**

**Crews**


	5. I Don't Even Want to Think About It

**Hey its been awhile... hope you like it.  
Mistakes: since I wrote this at 2 am, more than likely yes :)  
~Crews  
**

"So," I asked coming out of the dressing room. I was wearing a Bullet for my Valentine black t-shirt with dark skinny jeans. And wonderful black boots with big silver buckles. When we walked into Hot Topic, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. This latest outfit was the fourth of about a gazillion more. "What do you think?"

"I really like the boots," he remarked, looking me up and down. This had really bothered me when I had asked his opinion the first time. Him just lazily looking at me. I really wanted to punch him in the face until he had said that he liked the Papa Roach shirt. That made it better and after that, I didn't really care.

"These are the same jeans, different top. And I really like the boots too," I said, turning to look in the mirror. I looked up at Michael's reflection. He was still studying the clothes.

"Yes, I noticed. I've liked the jeans every time. They make your ass look great."

"Quit staring at my ass," I snapped, knowing even as I said it he wouldn't stop.

"I have something I want you to try on," he said, changing the subject. Turning to the rack beside him, he pulled out a hanger holding a solid black shirt.

"Okay," I said, taking it from him.

"Everything on the hanger," he said suspiciously. I glared at him as I walked back into the changing room, pulling the curtain shut behind me.

"Are you finding everything alright?" I heard the salesman ask. This guy was amazing. He had tattoo sleeves with crazy objects and designs. His lip and eyebrow were also pierced, the same hoop earrings in each, like they had been meant for ears. He had semi-long hair that he had gelled to the middle for a mini Mohawk and was freaking hot to boot. Of course, not as cute as Michael but like hell I would admit that out loud.

"I think we're fine," Michael said.

"Are you two dating or something?" the guy asked. I quickly covered my mouth to stifle a giggle. This was great.

"Or something," Michael said tensely. I could just imagine their faces: Michael seething and the guy fearing for his life.

"Call me if you need anything," the guy rushed, his steps moving rapidly away.

Shaking my head in amusement, I grabbed the shirt and pulled it from the hanger, revealing one of the extremely sexy corsets. I looked at it in surprise. It was black with black lace and ribbons, coming together at the bust to form a push-up bra. And the material was just sort of see through. It was one of those things that I had always wanted to try on but didn't have the guts to take off the hook.

I know, me, embarrassed to try something on. The world must be ending. But it's the truth. And now, here it was, staring at me. Something that Michael wanted me to try on.

I glared at it for a few seconds before sliding it off the hanger. What the hell… On it went.

"Holy shit," I breathed. It fit and did I look different!

"I knew it would look good," Michael said. Gasping, I turned around to see him leaning against the wall by the curtain.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" I snapped. I hadn't heard him or seen him come in and the mirror would have shown him coming in.

"I wanted to see," he said, raising his brows. The picture of innocence. "And I knew it would look good." He stared at my chest. I could feel myself turning red. Something that I had sworn to myself I would never do again.

Forgetting everything, especially what I was wearing, my instincts kicked in. I did what I do best. I got in his face.

"Bite me, freak," I breathed, voice clipped. He smirked, his eyes flashing demonically.

"Not just yet," he whispered, his tone giving me goose bumps. Before I knew it his mouth was on mine. His lips were gentle and the kiss ended after a second, Michael pulling his face back to gauge my reaction.

To be honest, I'm not sure what my face looked like at that moment. I was in complete shock. I had imagined this so many times, I'd probably even dreamt about it. Yet, in my mind, I had said something witty or sarcastic, threatening to kick his ass while at the same time pulling him closer for more. Something was definitely wrong with me as I stood there, staring at him with no doubt glassy eyes like a fish out of water.

"Are you alright?" Michael asked, waving a hand in front of my face. I cleared my head with a shake.

"Yeah," I said, embarrassed to no end that my voice shook. "I'm fine." I turned back to the mirror, examining the corset once more.

"Do you honestly expect me to buy this?" I asked.

Michael searched my face through the mirrors reflection.

"No," he finally said, looking down at my pile of clothes. With his scrutiny directed elsewhere, I found it possible to get a hold of myself. The freak wasn't playing by the rules and there was no way in hell anything like this was going to happen. No, its all pretend.

"Alright, freak, get the hell out of here. I'm changing so that we can leave.

"Fine," he said, ducking out of the dressing room through the curtain. I changed like a bat out of hell, untying the corset and shrugging back into the pastel nightmare. I looked at the corset, flung onto the little changing room bench. Picking it up, I gingerly placed it back on the hanger and on the hook. I stared at it for a few seconds, remembering the kiss. I smirked and turned to gather my clothes.

"Let's go," I said, kicking the curtain open.

"Alright," Michael replied, walking with me to the check out. The hot guy looked at me once, darted a quick glance at Michael and didn't look at me again. I glared at Michael.

"Seriously?" I whispered, as we walked out of the store. "No need to scare away potentials."

"Yes there is," he said, swinging the bag that he had insisted he carry. "You're mine."

"We're only pretending," I reminded him softly, watching his face.

"I know."

"What do you want for dinner?" Michael asked, sticking his head into my room. Since we got back from our little shopping escapade, I had been in my room with a big black trash bag, picking my way through the mess my mom had packed me. The dress I had worn that day was the first to go leaving me standing in a neon pink sports bra and shorts. The things I had deemed acceptable were hanging in the closet along with all my new clothes. I had decided to keep the thongs. Who knew what would happen?

"I'll eat whatever," I said, tying the black bag shut with a knot. I looked to see him watching me, his face asking what are you doing. "I decided that instead of burning them, which was my first thought, I would donate them," I said, tossing the bag from my bed to the floor. "Who knows? There may be some people who would want to wear them."

"Aren't you nice," he said, still staring at me. "Who are you and what have you done with Charlie?"

"Haha aren't you clever," I retorted. I moved toward him.

"So, what are you cooking?"

"Oh, it'll have to be a surprise," he said with a devilish grin. I raised my eyebrows. "Find something else to do but don't come into the kitchen."

"Yes sir," I mock saluted, grabbing my bathing suit from my dresser. "I'll be in the hot tub." He glanced at my suit.

"I forgot to mention that my hot tub is clothes free."

"Not in a hundred years my friend."

"You know," he said, grabbing my hand as I walked past him through the doorway. "A hundred years isn't that long."

I pointedly looked at his hand and he removed it and continued to turn and walk to the kitchen without another word. God, was this guy a freak. Hell, he's a perverted freak. The thongs, the corset and now the nude hot tub? This guy has got some issues.

I walked through the door to the hot tub and my jaw dropped in awe. The room was entirely made of glass. The walls, the ceiling. Everything except the hot tub. I returned to my room, donned my suit and headed back to the hot tub. I lifted the lid and shoved it to the side. I swung my legs over the side, scooting and sinking down into the warm water. I turned on the jets and leaned my head back against the edge, sighing in content. That's when I opened my eyes. Head still thrown back, I looked toward the sky and was amazed to see the stars. It was like I was outside in some hot spring, without a care. I closed my eyes once more and became oblivious to the world.

"Charlie," a voice called. I could feel myself being pulled from the scene before me and I wanted nothing more than to ignore the voice and remain in the dream. "Charlie," the voice persisted.

"Mmm go away," I mumbled, turning to the side and getting a face full of water. I snapped upright, spluttering. "Huh?"

"Charlie, dinner's ready," Michael said, staring down at me from the side. "And its not the smartest thing, sleeping in a hot tub."

"Yeah yeah," I grumbled, wiping my face with pruney fingers. Thinking back to the dream, I tried so hard to recall what it had been about. Nothing.

"Dinner?" Michael asked, still staring at me.

"I'm coming," I sighed, pushing myself up. Michael held out a towel. "Thanks."

"Now, I really hope you like this," he said holding the door to the hall open for me.

"Shouldn't I change?" I asked, as he led me past my door.

"You don't have to," he said, holding open the kitchen door. I shrugged. It didn't matter to me.

As I walked across the threshold, I was accosted with the most delicious scent I had ever smelled. It smelled like all my favorite foods. And it more or less was.

Michael had prepared everything from burgers to pizza to chicken linguini.

"Are you going to cook like this for every meal?" I asked, plunking down in my chair. In the blink of an eye he had my plate laden with tons of food.

"No," he replied, taking his own seat. "Just until I find what you like."

"You know," I said, taking a bite, "You could just ask."

"Now where's the fun in that?" he asked, drinking what appeared to be iced tea with some other red liquid.

"What are you drinking?" I asked, twirling pasta onto my fork.

"Herbal tea," he answered, swigging it down before I could ask to have some. Freak…

We sat in silence as I ate and Michael stared at the wall, not touching any of the food. I studied his face, aware that this was one of the only times that he wasn't examining or watching me. He seemed lost in thought.

"So, Michael," I started, wiping my mouth with a napkin. His eyes snapped in my direction.

"Yes?"

"About our wager this morning…" I started.

"The wager I won?"he teased, rubbing it in. "What about it?"

"That's for tonight and only tonight right?" I asked.

"I guess," he said, playing with his unused fork.

"What do you mean 'you guess'?"

He smirked.

I felt my heart beat increase within my chest. Holy crap… This morning, when I had agreed to this, I had had a bad feeling but, hey, I had thought I would win, no doubt. But here we were, the sun gone, the clock ticking seemingly faster and faster to the time when we would need to go to bed…

"Are you getting tired?" he asked innocently. I looked at him like he was crazy. I was so keyed up!

"Are you crazy?" I asked. He stared into my eyes and suddenly I could feel them starting to droop. Oh shit.

"You're tired," he stated, getting out of his chair. "Time for bed."

"But," I tried to say, but my brain had stopped functioning correctly. What had I been saying? How the hell was he doing this to me?

Michael scooped me up bridal style and carried me to his room, laying me gently on his bed. I watched dazedly as he walked into his bathroom and two seconds later came out in pajama pants and no shirt, revealing a six pack that I had not noticed before. Oh crap.

Picking me up in one arm, he pulled back the covers and tucked me in, getting in on the other side. He slid over and had me wrapped in his arms in no time at all.

"Are you sure you just want to sleep?" he murmured gently in my ear. He leaned forward and kissed me once more just as gently as before. I felt my mouth moving in response and he playfully bit my lip. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!

I pulled him closer, running my hands across his stomach, his back, moving to run my fingers through his hair. At the same time, he had his hands wrapped around my waist, playing with the waist band of my bathing suit. I was still wearing a bathing suit…

"Oh shit," I breathed against his mouth as he reached for the strings of my bikini top. I could feel them slowly sliding loose…

"Hell no!" I cried, pulling myself from his arms. "This is so not happening!" I rolled to the side of the bed and raced out the door to my room. I slammed the door shut, changed into a long sleeved shirt and long pj pants with a string tie which I pulled extra tight and double knotted. I slowly walked back to Michael's room.

He was still lying in bed, the covers pulled over his legs, making it look as though he wasn't wearing anything at all. I crawled into his bed, rolled so my back was to him and pulled the covers securely around me.

"Good night Michael," I said. He sighed.

"Good night," answered.

The lights went out.

**Success! Longer :)  
**  
**Thank you so much for all the reviews :) you all make my day.  
****For those who don't review, PLEASE do. I love to read them :)**


	6. Dogs, Running and Bats?

**Sorry this took a bit longer than normal.  
Enjoy!**

~Crews

"Well that wasn't awkward," Michael said over breakfast. We were both seated at the table, juice glasses in hand; mine orange, Michael's cranberry.

"Uh huh," I said, running my thumb around the brim of the glass.

In truth, last night was the most awkward experience I have ever had and probably ever will have. After the whole make out fiasco and my blatant refusal of him, I was surprised he even wanted to talk to me. Most guys would have been "not cool" and "peace out" never to be seen again. But here we are, sitting at the kitchen table, looking at each other kind of like it never happened. Except, of course, for his comment.

I studied his face as he looked down at his juice, lost in thought. He got lost in his own mind a lot sometimes. And his face was unreadable, no matter how hard I tried, I could not tell what he was thinking. Ever. This morning was especially blank and he didn't look well. He had huge, dark circles under his eyes and his skin had taken on a bluish tint. I was in bed with him all night and I know he did sleep because I sure as hell didn't. What was wrong with him?

"You're staring at me," he commented, not taking his eyes off the juice.

"Just at your ugly face," I replied automatically.

"Ouch," he said, looking at me.

"You asked for it." He sighed with a shrug.

"What do you want to do today?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject. I was glad because no doubt the topic would have changed to last night if he hadn't.

"I kind of want to go to the gym," I said before draining the glass. The only thing his house didn't have was a gym.

"Alright," he said, clearing the table and dropping the plates into the soapy water in the sink. "I'll drop you off."

"You don't want to come?" I teased, handing him my glass. He took it with a wry smile.

"Nope, I don't work out."

"Liar," I said, sitting back down as he washed the dishes. He looked at me with false innocence.

"Would I ever lie to you Charlotte?" he asked, exaggerating his false pain at being accused.

"No way you have those abs without working on them," I said, pulling my hair out of my face. "And don't call me Charlotte." Suddenly he was right in front of me, soap dripping from his fingers. How did he move so fast?

"I don't need to," he smiled, his eyes flashing.

"This has to do with your secret doesn't it?" I accused. He still hadn't told me.

He raised his eyebrows and turned away, taking the plate of half eaten bacon with him.

"You know," I said, changing the subject once more that morning. If he thought that was the end of the talk about his secret, he was horribly wrong. "We really need a dog." He turned to me, confusion on his face. "So we don't waste food," I elaborated, nodding toward the plate. "You cook so much then don't eat any. I can't eat everything."

"Maybe," he laughed. "Though dogs don't tend to like me. And he'd get really fat."

"You're probably right, but at least he'd be just my dog."

Michael shook his head. We fell into a comfortable silence as he finished up the dishes while I watched. All and all, after that awkward night, we had a pretty good morning.

"When do you want to go?" Michael asked, throwing the towel down on the counter. The dishes were done and I still hadn't moved. It had been my turn to get lost in my own head. Just memories, odd little jokes with friends, remembering my gym teacher with the toupé…

"What?" I asked, confused as I resurfaced in the real world.

"You wanted to go to the gym…"

"Right! Whenever you want to take me."

"Alright then, go get ready."

"Now?"

"Yes I want to take you now."

"You know, that sounded really dirty?"

"Charlie, get your mind out of the gutter and go change."

"Yes sir," I mock saluted on my way to my room. I really missed running and I was excited. Running always calmed me down and helped me think. This would be great.

The treadmill was just like the one at my old gym. I got on, attaching the pull cord to my sleeve and pushed the button.

I started out slow, listening to All Time Low as I watched the people around me exercising. It was a really nice gym with a work out room, a track that circled through the weight room and extended out over the courts, overlooking them. There was also a pool and I really wished I had brought my suit. Swimming laps would have been perfect. Maybe next time.

Thoughts of Michael soon surfaced and I found myself not being able to think of anything else as Dignity blasted in my ears. Michael was gorgeous, smart, funny, quick and could almost best me in witty comebacks. And that is no easy feat. I am the best. But his secret. I really wanted to know, because the bitch knows, but not me? What the hell?

Speak of the devil…

"Shit," I breathed, watching as Beatrice walked into the gym wearing short pink shorts with pale blue stripes down the sides and a pale blue tank top. Why the hell did she have to come?

"Oh, hi skank," she said, seeing me as she walked over to use the treadmill right next to me. Of course.

"Bitch."

"Ooh I'm so scared," she sneered, starting up the machine. "There's no Michael here to save your ass this time. Behave." Pretty On The Outside began to play. How ironic.

"I don't need Michael. I can beat your ass all by myself."

'_If I tear you open wide, take a look inside are you pretty?_

_Can I get inside your mind, see what I can find are you pretty?_

_So just take off that disguise cause everyone knows that you're only pretty on the _

_outside'_

God couldn't have chosen a more perfect song to play at this moment. Beatrice was sure as hell _not_ pretty on the inside.

She flipped her hair to the side. Unlike me, she wasn't wearing it up. Did she not sweat or something? With the hair flip, two little punctures were revealed on her neck. They weren't big, but you could tell they were new.

"What's up with your neck?" I asked. I couldn't help it. Damn you curious nature!

"Like you don't know," she retorted, flipping her hair to cover the marks.

Ahhh. The secret.

"Fine, don't tell me," I retorted, turning my music up even louder. "Like I care." I pointedly stared straight ahead, knowing that if my hunch was correct, she wouldn't be able to keep it to herself. And boy was I right.

"Alright!" she snapped stopping her machine to stare over at me. "I hooked up with this guy, Kendall and oh my god he is fucking hot! He was a little rough though," she said, absentmindedly touching her neck. "It has never hurt that much before."

"He bit you?" I asked in disbelief. I stopped my machine to stare at her. "Why the hell would you let him bite you?"

"Same reason you let Michael bite you," she said, looking at me like I was the stupidest person in the world.  
"I don't let him bite me."

"Then why the hell did he pick you?" she snarled, outraged. "I always let him."

"Maybe it's because you're easy?" Beatrice's eyes narrowed and her fists clenched. "Gee, I guess our bonding time is over," I said, hopping off the machine. "How sad."

Beatrice's glare brought to mind the saying, 'if looks could kill.'

I changed my shoes and grabbed my bag, heading toward the door.

"Michael!" I called, coming through the front door. "You'll never guess who I saw at the gym. I'll give you a hint. It was the…" I stopped short, my jaw dropping. Seated on the couch were Michael and a short blonde. And they weren't talking about the weather.

"Whoa," I said turning my head. Michael raised his head from the girl's neck, eyes burning red.

"Charlie, it's not what you think," he said, wiping his lips on the sleeve of his shirt. The girl stared at me, eyes wide in surprise. "Kate," he said, turning to her. "I think you should leave."

"Bye Mike," she said getting up and moving toward the door. I stepped aside, watching her as she left, but not really seeing her.

This was his secret? That he had more than one girl at a time? Shit! I should have known.

"Charlie," Michael sighed, getting up and moving toward me. I turned, pushing through the door back to my room. I slammed it behind me.

"Charlie!" Michael's voice came through the wood. "Let me explain."

"Explain what?" I shouted back. "That you have loads of girls?"

"That's not it."

"That's what it looks like. And to think, I was kind of starting to tolerate you."

"That's not my secret."

"It isn't?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me again. Damn it!

"I'll tell you if you open the door."

I stood there, biting my lip in indecision. Should I? I really did want to know. "Hmm," I said aloud.

"Just open it."

"Fine," I said, opening the door a crack. He pushed it open farther till we were face to face. His eyes were blue again. He looked better than he had in a few days I realized, startled. He wasn't as pale. He was kind of, rosy.

"You said you'd tell me."

He looked me in the eyes and sighed.

"Charlie, I'm a vampire." I stared at him, eyes wide.

"Yeah right," I scoffed. "You know, if you had another girl…" I started.

"I'm not kidding," Michael said, his face intensely serious. "And even though we're pretend, I wouldn't do that to you." He smiled. "Besides, if I was doing some other chick, I wouldn't be trying so hard to get you to sleep with me."

"You know, for some reason I don't believe you," I said, brushing past him. I needed to get out of the house. He grabbed my arm and pulled me back around.

"About what? That I'm a vampire or that I wouldn't cheat on you?" He asked, looking down at me with wide eyes. I stared back.

"You know what? Both," I answered, pulling my arm from his grasp. It wouldn't come. I tugged and tugged but Michael wouldn't let go.

"Michael," I snapped, getting angry. It was one thing to cheat on our fake relationship and lie about it. It was another thing to physically restrain me. He released me.

"I'm not lying about either, Charlie. What can I do to prove it to you?"

"Hmm how bout you turn into a bat and fly away," I bit back sarcastically. "And concerning the cheating, I honestly don't care. We're fake. That's all there is to it. You can do whatever you want."

"God you're so infuriating!" he snapped. "Since the party, I thought, you know what? I can handle this. She's not so bad. I may even like her. But now that I've told you my secret, you call me a liar and a cheat? I don't think so.

"Another thing," he said, not taking a breath. "I don't cheat. I haven't cheated on anyone or anything since birth. And that was a long time ago." He paused.

"Prove to me you aren't lying," I said, taking advantage of his silence. He scrunched his forehead in thought.

"Alright," he said, taking my hand. I tried to pull away, but he glared at me and I let it go. He moved my hand to his chest, pressing it over his heart. Nothing.

"What the?" I asked, wonder coloring my tone. Could this be real?  
"If you still don't believe me, I have more."

"Keep it coming I said," my eyes riveted to my hand on his chest. Maybe he would turn into a bat.

**PLEASE REVIEW! push the button. you know you want to. :)**


	7. Crazy is my Middle Name

**Hey. So it has been over a year since I last updated/written anything for fun. And I thought I couldn't crank out another Charlie/Michael drama, but turns out bullshitting English papers gets the creative juices flowing. I don't know if anyone has alerts for this story anymore, but anyone who does end up reading this, I hope you like it. I must say I have missed Charlie.  
~Crews******

WARNING!: Anyone who likes Twilight may not like what Charlie and Michael say in the middle of the chapter. They are pretty adamant in their views. Just letting you know now :)

"No Charlie," Michael said exasperated. "I will not turn in to a bat. Why are you so stuck on that anyway?" We were both seated on the couch, sitting as far away from each other as physically possible. I couldn't keep the smile off my face at his obvious discomfort. After all the mind messing he had done to me, making me want to kiss him every time I got near him and my complete lack of self-restraint (well not _all_ of that was him), messing with him was the BEST. I widened my toothy grin and raised my eyebrows, the picture of innocence.

"But Michael," I said in a falsetto voice. "You showed me the speed and the missing heartbeat, but your lacking fangs makes me doubt what you say is true. Why can't you just change into a bat, just once?" I batted my eyelashes.

"You are a horrible flirt," Michael said. "Really, it hurts just watching." I narrowed my eyes and glared at him, the innocent charade gone without a trace. He studied me, head tilted to the left. "Now you look like your old self. Don't do that, you'd give me a heart attack if it was still beating."

"Oh you're so funny," I snapped, pulling my knees up to my chest. My mind could barely contain the thoughts whirling through my head. Super fast, no heart beat…  
"Don't forget the mindreading," he chimed in with a smile.

"God, you're fucking Edward Cullen," I groaned. I dropped my head burying my face in my arms. "You know, I really don't like Twilight." I looked up so I could see his expression, quickly hiding my smile.

"Good," he said, voice dripping with disgust. "That asshole is a poser. Sparkling in the sunlight? Yeah right. Who the fuck comes up with that shit? Hell, in the fourth movie they don't even sparkle. Talk about inconsistency." He looked at me and snapped his mouth shut, looking like he wished he could take back what he had just let slip.

I was up and off that couch in a second, looking at him like I didn't even know him. And to be honest, I really didn't. "Please," I said, eyes wide in horror, "tell me you _didn't _see Breaking Dawn. It's still in _theaters_!" I hissed. God, did he go by himself?

"No!" he shouted, getting to his feet. We stood nose to nose, me horrified and him defensive. "Beatrice dragged me! I didn't want to go." I burst out laughing, falling to the floor as my legs collapsed beneath me.

"I… can't… breathe!" I gasped, clutching my stomach. "You…let…the…bitch…haha!"  
"I'm glad you find this so amusing," he grumbled, looking down at me. "You know, I am seeing a side of you that I hadn't thought existed and to be honest it is kind of scaring me."

"Like you being a vampire shouldn't scare me?" I asked.  
"That's different," he said. "I can't help what I am. This," he said, gesturing down at me on the floor. "I don't even know what this is."  
"I can help you with that," I said, slowly getting to my feet, grabbing the arm of the couch to steady myself. "This is me losing my mind. Seriously, my life is so fucking screwed up." I looked up into his face. "I am fake engaged to a dark, sexy vampire who refuses to turn into a bat for me, my mother is the bitch from hell along with your skank of an ex-girlfriend. Pair that with my own crazy, delusional self and we make the perfect skitzo couple from Looney Bin Land. How can you not find this funny?"  
"Wait, you think I'm sexy?"  
"Of course that would be the only thing you hear," I sighed. My head started throbbing.

"What? No flippant remark? No sarcastic comeback? You really have lost it," Michael said, stepping forward to grab my shoulders, holding me up. "Does that mean that you wouldn't object to some cuddling tonight?" He smiled crookedly.

"Haha nice try! I'm not that far gone," I snorted, trying to pull away. He wouldn't let go. "Jeez, Michael, what did I say about restraining me..."  
"I know," he said, an evil glint in his eye. "But if I let go, then I wouldn't be able to try to convince you to change your mind." Before I could protest his lips were crushing mine as his arms pulled me closer. I'll admit, despite all the little warning bells going off in my head, I loved it. I could just sink in his arms, let him carry me to his room…

God, I really had lost it. I wasn't acting like myself at all. Who was this Charlie who let a guy take her by surprise three times now? Where was the no nonsense, ass-kicking chick who didn't tolerate this shit, who rebelled against everything that life threw at her? Who accepted nothing without a fight? Where had this complacent, pushover girl come from? My resolve finally solidified as I stood there in his arms, my lips responding to his of their own accord. I felt Michael tense as he undoubtedly read my mind. I raised my arms, placing my hands flat against his chest, pushing away from his wonderful mouth. He didn't resist, lifting his head back, but he wouldn't let me escape his arms.

"Something is wrong with me," I said, looking up into his eyes. "I don't act like this, ever."  
"Could that mean you're actually starting to like me?" he asked, smiling his crooked smile.  
"Ugh, I hope not," I grimaced, burying my face in his shirt as his arms snaked around my back. "I would like the psycho-killer vampire." His body started shaking in silent laughter.

"Thank you for putting that so mildly," he laughed.  
"What about Kate?" I asked.  
"What about her?"

"Why was she here? Besides the obvious reason," I clarified before he could once more question my sanity. Michael grasped my shoulders, pushing me back so that he could see my face.  
I could tell he was trying to think of a lie or trying to soften a blow, something that was going to be less than truthful. I stepped back, my old self surfacing once more.

"Fuck this shit," I snapped. "This is done, we're done. I don't care anymore. I'm moving in with Rob. At least he doesn't lie to me." Alright, I admit, that was a low blow, especially since he had just revealed the secret of the century, but you know what? I was sick of everything. And just like that, it descended on me all at once. My psycho bitch mother, the events of my life that hardened me into the cynic I am (and yes I know I'm a cynic), the engagement, the vampire. My shoulders slumped as my body, fatigued from the gym and the chaos swirling through my head, started to shut down. The room started spinning before my eyes.

"Charlie?" Michael called, seemingly from far off though I could see his concerned face swirling in my narrowing gaze. "Charlie!"  
I tried to raise my hands, trying to push him away, but my muscles refused to move as the world around me faded to black.

I felt soft hands smoothing my hair as I slowly started to come back to life. I was somewhere soft and warm, pressed into the crook of an arm. A low murmuring sounded in my ears, the noise persistent gibberish until my mind started to process that the noise consisted of a stream of words, repeated over and over in a hushed tone.

"_Please wake up. Please wake up."_

"I'm awake," I grumbled, raising a hand to my aching forehead. I felt him sigh as he wrapped his arms around me, squeezing the air from my lungs. "But if you keep doing that," I gasped, "I won't be for long." The arms released me as I opened my eyes, Michael's face crowding my vision.  
"What happened?" I asked.

"You fainted," Michael said.

"Well," I said, shifting my gaze to the ceiling, "fainting sucks. I'm not doing that again." Michael chuckled as I began to take in my surroundings. Black walls, black sheets, Starry Night… "Why the hell am I in your room?" I snapped. I sat up, wincing as pain shot through my head. I leaned back, resting my head back on the soft pillow…. "And why the fuck am I in your bed?"

Pushing through the pain, I lurched off the bed, flailing as my legs tangled with the blankets. As the floor loomed closer and closer, I closed my eyes, mentally prepared for the face plant I knew was imminent…

Strong hands grabbed my shoulders, saving me before I could smash my nose in the carpet which would have undoubtedly spewed blood everywhere. And with a vampire, I don't think that would have been a good idea. I felt giddy as he pulled me back up onto the bed, resettling me in the crook of his arm.  
"None of that now," Michael chided. "You don't need another concussion." I glared at him.  
"What do you mean by _another_?"

Michael looked down, watching his fingers as they plucked at the comforter. "I panicked," he mumbled. "And you fell too fast…"  
"You didn't catch me," I stated. "Jeez, what is the super speed good for if you can't catch the fainting damsel?"  
"Damsel?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"Shut up! You know what I mean," I snapped.  
"You know," he said, looking down at me, "you're taking this vampire thing very well. I was expecting you to scream, throw something at me, you know, anything really. But not this. I did not expect this."

"Is that what Bitchy Beatrice did?" I asked.

"We're not even going to go there," he said dryly.

"Well, I already knew you were a freak, so knowing this just proves that I was right," I said. "And there is also the fact that I am mentally unbalanced."  
"Without a doubt," he said solemnly, his face betraying his amusement. He was leaning over me again, that evil glint in his eye stirring butterflies in my stomach. "You know, I never did manage to change your mind…"

"Don't even think about it," I grumbled pulling my feet from beneath the covers before I attempted to get out of bed again. "I haven't changed my mind about _that_." I heard him sigh behind me as he too got to his feet.

"I guess I'll just have to try harder," he said as he walked around the bed and opened the door to the hall. He leaned against the frame as I slowly got to my feet, making sure that my legs would hold me up. My headache had resided and was now nothing more than an occasional throb.  
"You do that," I said walking past him and down the hall, heading for the kitchen. "Speaking of trying harder, I'm hungry. What's for dinner?"

**Please Review! You know you want to ;)**


	8. Oh Shit

**So yet another year has gone by and I am just now updating... Sorry! I've been writing on something else and haven't even really thought about Michael and Charlie. If anyone is still following the story, I hope you like it. I kind of tweaked Charlie a little bit. Tell me what you think :) And thank you for being patient with me.**

**~Crews**

"Michael, I'm bored," I said without looking at him. We were both sprawled on the couch in our respective corners, the television blaring reality TV nonsense (seriously, what the hell is a Snooki and is it contagious?). The couch cushions shifted and I turned to look, meeting Michael's gaze as he switched off the TV. His eyes searched mine and I had the awful feeling that he was going to say something I wouldn't like. "What?"

"We have to go meet our parents," he said. His face twisted into a grimace as he watched me. I didn't blame him. I could feel all the emotions flashing across my face—surprise, anger, betrayal. I glared at him, my hands clenching into fists on the soft leather. He got up and padded into the kitchen, opened the fridge and started pulling stuff out to make dinner.

I could have punched myself. I knew we were lucky that they hadn't butted in before this. I mean, leaving us alone for three full weeks was both a surprise and a blessing. Michael and I had been left to our own devices, me going to the gym on a regular basis (not running into Beatrice, thank God!) and Michael being his sneaky vampire self. I knew he was feeding, but I chose to just ignore it and would always knock before walking into the apartment, even though he said I didn't need to. I'd rather not be surprised with another Kate incident.

But I really should have known better. Especially when my eighteenth birthday had quietly come and gone. I figured mom hadn't wanted to bring it up because technically she couldn't tell me what to do anymore. God she's infuriating, and now she's butting in again. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and counted to ten.  
"What are you doing?" Michael asked. My eyes flew open as I jumped at his proximity. He was standing right in front of me and I had not heard him.

"Fuck!" I yelled, my heart fluttering in my chest. "God, don't do that!" Michael smirked as he looked down at me and I realized that he could probably hear my heart beat. I narrowed my eyes and moved to get off the couch, but he pressed his fingers against my shoulder and pushed me back.

"I don't think so," he teased, sitting on the table across from me. "This is no time to go and sulk in your room."

"Get out of my head," I growled, my anger rising as he just laughed.

"I will if you answer my question," he persisted.

"If you're in my head already, you know what I was doing," I sighed, exasperated.

"Tell me."

I glared at him, his eyes wide with false innocence. I pressed my lips into a fine line. "Fine. I was counting to ten so that I wouldn't fly off the handle. I dislike Liz, as you know, and I would rather not go out to meet her and your dad."

"You've changed," Michael said. He got up and went back into the kitchen, his feet making noise as he went.

"What do you mean by that?" I barked, flying off the couch to follow. "How have I changed?"

He smirked as he stirred a large pot of boiling water. Looked like spaghetti for dinner.

"When we first met, you would have preferred flying off the handle. That Charlie would never have counted to ten to calm down."

"How do you know?" I asked, too indignant to realize that he was right. I would have screamed and outright refused before. Was I really changing?

"Because when we first met, that's what you _did_."  
I sighed, leaning against the counter as he poured sauce into a pan. "Yeah, well that was before we made our deal and before I got to know you. You're not the worst vampire I know."

"You know a lot of us, do you?" he teased. He carried the large pot over to the sink and strained out the water.

"Alright, no, you're the only one really, but you're still not so bad. Except," I said and he looked at me with an eyebrow raised. "If you keep sneaking up on me like that, I am going to have to kick your ass. This is your first and only warning."

"Sounds fair," he chuckled. "I don't mean to do it. I actually have to think about making noise when I walk around. I'm naturally quiet."

"You mean _un_naturally, Vamp Boy."

"Ha ha, very funny." He turned off the burner and dumped the sauce onto the pasta. "Dinner is ready." He spooned up two bowls and carried them to the table as I grabbed forks, napkins and two cups which I filled with ice and lemonade. We had gotten into the routine that he cooked and I grabbed drinks and silverware. He usually didn't eat, but I had come to find that there were certain foods that he would. Like spaghetti.

I sat down across from him and started twirling noodles around my fork. "So, when do we have to see Zane and Liz?" I asked. Michael looked up, eyes guarded. From his expression I could tell that he had hoped I'd forgotten. Guess again.

"In about an hour," he mumbled. My breath caught in my throat.

"Are you serious?" I choked out. My fork clattered to the table. "Why tonight?" Michael set his own fork down as he looked up at me. From all the stories of vampires being suave and confident, Michael sure could be meek sometimes. Like now and any other time that we've had to talk about his dad and my mom. He was also very good at avoiding discussions and changing the subject.

"Your mom said it was something about trying on your dress," he said after a moment of studying what was without a doubt an expression of pure panic on my face. Pure panic that abruptly shifted to unadulterated horror.

"You've been talking to Liz?" I squeaked. And then the rest sunk in. "AND SHE HAS A DRESS PICKED OUT?" Michael really looked uncomfortable now. Without a word, I slowly lifted myself out of my chair and walked to the kitchen door, pushing through it and sprinting to my room as fast as I could. It didn't work. Like the night he chased me out of his father's house, Michael was suddenly in front of me and we collided, the feeling still like slamming into a brick wall.  
His arms circled around my back as I fought to get free. No matter how much I struggled, shifted and elbowed him, he wouldn't budge. Finally I just stopped, my forehead resting against his chest, my shoulders sagging in defeat.

He was right, I wasn't the old Charlie anymore, the one who would kick ass and take names. Time away from my mother had weakened my protective shell of sarcasm and threatened violence. There was no other explanation; I'd become docile in Michael's presence. What was wrong with me?  
I felt a traitorous tear slide down my cheek and Michael's arms tensed, pushing me away just enough that he could look down at me without letting go. I ducked me head, staring at the dark red carpet.

"Charlie," he said, his tone surprising me. It wasn't pity or annoyance. It was sweet and caring, two emotions that were absolutely foreign to me. Without realizing what I was doing, I looked up and met his gaze, my heartbeat jumping to three times its normal rate, my breath catching in my throat. His hand moved from my shoulder to my face, his fingers gently lifting my chin as he leaned forward to press his lips against mine.

We'd kissed a few times since the awkward sleepover debacle. Michael would always smirk and lean in quick to plant a kiss on my lips and would just as quickly back away as I raised my fists to punch him. But this was different. I didn't want to punch him, didn't want him to back away. And this was definitely all me. Michael had promised to stop messing with my head and emotions and he had kept his word. This was me. Oh shit…  
I leaned into him, my arms threading up and around his neck, bringing his face down closer to mine. Michael pulled back, breaking the kiss, and looked at me in surprise. I pulled him back, my tongue sweeping across his lower lip.

Suddenly my back was pressed up against the wall as Michael took control, his tongue brushing mine as he explored my mouth. I gasped in surprise, the noise spurring him on. Without taking his lips from mine, his hands traveled down my sides, brushing against my hips before stopping on my butt as he lifted me off the ground. My legs crossed behind his back.

In the back of my mind, I realized that we probably shouldn't be doing this, especially since we had to meet Zane and Liz in less than an hour. But the rest of my brain pushed that tiny voice aside as I concentrated on the effect Michael was having on my body. I felt flushed and giddy as Michael gently scraped his teeth against my bottom lip, my heart beating erratically in my chest.

I didn't realize we'd moved until soft pillows pressed into my back where the hard wall had been before. Michael pulled back, his hair falling into his face as he stared down at me, the hunger in his eyes sending flames through my stomach as my mind briefly registered that we were in my room. He leaned forward, his lips brushing gently across my skin as he kissed my jaw and trailed kisses down my neck that felt like air. I gasped as he moved to my ear, his teeth gently tugging. He pulled back again and grinned mischievously.

My breathing was uneven and my heart was going a mile a minute as I realized he was teasing me.

"You jerk," I laughed breathlessly. His smile widened in response as he ran his hands down my body, stopping at my waist as he fingered my waistband. I hooked my foot around his leg and flipped him so now I was straddling him. Amusement mixed with the hunger in his eyes.

"Wasn't I mad at you?" I asked as I brushed my lips across his jaw line. His hands grabbed my hips, his fingers tugging at my waistband. I straightened and lifted my shirt over my head, tossing it across the room. Michael's eyes widened as I leaned forward again. I licked his bottom lip and his lips parted as he gasped. I pressed my lips to his and slowly caressed his tongue with mine. My fingers slid across his stomach, my mind reeling at the feel of his insane abs. I pushed his shirt up, breaking the kiss long enough to help him pull it off.

He grabbed my hands as I started trailing them down his sides. He looked into my eyes. "We don't have to do this," he whispered, his voice sending chills down my spine.

"I know," I whispered back, smiling. I kissed him, pulling back slowly. Michael looked up at me.

"Now who's teasing whom?" he whispered, eyes intense.

"You tell me." He growled, our bodies flying as he flipped me, pressing me into the bed. I giggled as we explored each other, our mouths pressed tightly together.

"Charlotte," my mother's voice broke in. I shook my head as I focused on her face. We were sitting across from each other, Zane on her left and Michael on my right, at this very fancy restaurant that I have never had the inclination to visit. But because it's Liz, of course this is where she wanted to meet us.

"What?" I asked, forcing my mind to focus on her and not on what Michael and I had been doing to each other two hours before. Michael's hand rested on my knee and I covered it with mine. Liz looked between me and Michael, eyebrows raised.

"I asked if you two have been getting along," she repeated, her eyes still shifting between us. "But I think I already know the answer." My eyes narrowed as Zane lifted a hand to cover his mouth, his eyes shining with amusement. I turned my attention to him, my face paling as a thought came to mind. Michael's hand tightened as Zane nodded imperceptibly. Oh crap. This was great. I couldn't keep my mind off of Michael and Zane could read my mind. This was just great. I bit my lip and glared at my mother.

"So about this dress," I started, working to set my mind on a not-as-embarrassing topic. My mom held up her hand to stop me.  
"It's already been bought and paid for," she said. "You can't return it." My stomach flipped nervously. She wouldn't have immediately defended it unless she already knew that I wasn't going to like it. My eyes narrowed even further.

"Ah, that reminds me," Zane said, pulling himself together. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. My forehead scrunched in confusion as Michael released my leg to take the box from his father. Michael turned to me, lifting the lid and revealing a rather large blue sapphire ring.

"What is that?" I asked.

"Your engagement ring," Liz answered. I looked at Michael.

"Yeah," he said, smiling at me. "I hope you don't mind that it's not a diamond, but I felt that you would like the unconventional." I looked from Michael, to Zane, to

Liz and felt my stomach tying itself into knots. Being away from Liz and Zane had made me forget that I was getting married. In 3 weeks. Though Michael and I had made that deal what felt like years ago, I could feel myself starting to panic as reality began to sink in once more. My head started to buzz as I looked down at the ring once more. Michael plucked it from the box and took my left hand in his, gently sliding the cool band onto my ring finger.

This was too much. The buzzing in my head grew louder and louder, darkness pressing in from the outside until my vision was completely black. The last thing I remember before sinking into oblivion were two strong arms grabbing my arms and a shrill voice yelling, _"CHARLOTTE!?"_


End file.
